A Little Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing…
by Cheppo
Summary: It’s surprising how a misquoted line can inspire a story. After all, you should always heed the warnings...
1. Prologue

**A little knowledge is a dangerous thing…**

**Author's note: This is my first attempt at a Fanfiction so constructive feedback is welcome. And yes, I know it's short, but I promise there's more to follow.**

**Boring Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians, or any of the characters, ideas etc...etc, you get the picture... They all belong to Rick Riordan and his publishers.**

_A little learning is a dang'rous thing;_

_____Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:_

_____There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,_

_____And drinking largely sobers us again._

_____Fir'd at first sight with what the Muse imparts,_

_____In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts,_

_____While from the bounded level of our mind_

_____Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind;_

_____But more advanc'd, behold with strange surprise_

_____New distant scenes of endless science rise!_

_____So pleas'd at first the towering Alps we try,_

_____Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky,_

_____Th' eternal snows appear already past,_

_____And the first clouds and mountains seem the last;_

_____But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey_

_____The growing labours of the lengthen'd way,_

_____Th' increasing prospects tire our wand'ring eyes,_

_____Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!"_

_- Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism 1711_**  
**

Prologue

_Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood._

_ If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. _

'Close this book right now' – if only I could. Unfortunately I have to read it; English Literature can be such a drag at times, especially when there's a big, fat essay to write for next Monday. Still, at least it's not Chaucer or Shakespeare, or Jane Austen for that matter. That's what I had to study last term, and trust me, it was dull, I mean, honestly, who cares about Mr Darcy. Well, my mum does, but that just goes to prove my point: no-one in their right mind would willingly read such utter drivel. Hang on; I've just wasted a minute or two thinking about Jane Austen related thoughts, something I swore never to do ever again. So back to the book at hand,

_Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life._

I wish my life wasn't so normal; it's bloody boring if I'm honest. A whole stream of essays to write, pointless books to read, groceries to scan, you get the picture. I don't know why anyone would want a normal life. Seventy five years of mediocrity, of sitting exams, getting dull jobs in stuff like accountancy, raising families, divorcing and growing old gracelessly. Then what? You die. The end. Oh yes, sounds like lots of fun. Would you like cash-back with that Sir?

_Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways._

Ha, I bet this guy has never had to sit through Mr Yates' Latin lessons; death would be a welcome relief. I wonder idly whether I should be taking notes, will this opening passage help with my essay? It's certainly unconventional, a direct address to the reader, breaking the fourth wall and all that. It's almost like he's trying to warn _me_. I shake my head, how ridiculous; it's a simple literary device designed to catch the reader's interest, nothing more...

_But if you recognise yourself in these pages – if you feel something stirring inside – stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you._

Something certainly is stirring inside; my stomach rumbles angrily, must be nearly tea time. I pause again. Englishy thoughts swirl around my mind, ideas lighting up my brain like fireworks. I scrabble for a pen. I've got an idea, and what's more, it's a good one. In my haste I miss the last line,

_Don't say I didn't warn you._


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

My class stood shivering in the car park; the fierce and biting wind was making my teeth chatter. I had a bad feeling about this field trip already. Actually it had to be the only feeling I had left, the rest of me seemed totally numb. The beach didn't look inviting either, the place was totally deserted and desolate. And to think it was April already. Somehow summer seemed an awfully long way away. The house happened to catch my eye though, nestled in the sand dunes not three hundred metres away. And there it was again; that uneasy feeling that I couldn't quite place.

"I wonder who lives there?" a familiar voice said.

"Samantha, you made me jump!" I replied, tearing my eyes away from that shack.

"Sorry," she smirked.

"Liar!" I grinned back, trying to shake off the feeling of foreboding.

We were interrupted by the booming voice of Mr Parsons, our geography teacher, "Right class, listen carefully, I will only say this once. We're here to survey sediment, nothing more. Anyone who fools around will get a detention, no warnings, no second chances. If you get wet, you stay wet, and in this weather you'll soon regret it. Now, we've gone over everything you need to do in class already, but are there any questions?"

There was a sullen silence. I wondered how many would rather be back at school; at least it was warm there.

"Good, we're to meet back here in an hour. Now get a move on; I'm bloody cold!"

The small crowd quickly dispersed along the beach, working in pairs, a smattering of colourful coats on an otherwise colourless landscape below a steely grey sky. Samantha and I somehow ended up right in front of the house, just my luck.

Close to it was obvious the place was abandoned, and had been for some time. The windows were boarded up and several of the roof tiles were loose. The sky-blue paint was fading off the battered clap-board walls, and ivy had completely enveloped one side. That should have been the end of it, after all, it was only a run-down old shack, and I'd seen plenty of those in my time. Yet something about the place kept distracting me.

"Tom, will you please concentrate!" Samantha said for the fifth time.

"Oh, sorry," I muttered, turning back to the rock I was supposed to be measuring, "It's er, let me see, ten centimetres long, eight wide and…"

"We've already done that one," she interrupted icily, without even looking up from her clipboard, "Twice."

"Oh."

For a second I thought she was going to get angry with me, but instead she just sighed, irritably brushing a few loose strands of her chestnut hair out of her eyes, in that way I'd always secretly liked. She let the silence stretch awkwardly, head still buried in that clipboard of hers. I tried to think of some witty or sarcastic remark that would break the ice, just like in the movies. None came to mind.

"I need to go to the toilet," I muttered lamely, cringing at just how pathetic it sounded. She snorted in disgust. I took that as a permission to take my leave. Quickly.

I stumbled up the beach, trying to clear my mind, but it was no use. I kicked the sand irritably; the wind blew it straight back in my face.

"As if my day couldn't get any worse," I growled, which in retrospect must be one of the dumbest things I've ever said. I went round the back of the cottage, trying to find somewhere to think. The place didn't look any better from the rear, all tatty and run-down, just another abandoned holiday lodge. Then I heard it; a low moan coming from inside. Normally I'd have dismissed it as being nothing more than the wind, but something lured me in. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck tingling, and suddenly my mouth felt drier than the Sahara, this place gave me the creeps.

"Is anyone there?" I called. No one answered. The wind howled some more, making the back door bang. Obviously someone had forgotten to lock the place up securely. I frowned, stepping up onto the small porch.

"Hullo?" I called again, peering round the door. The place reeked so badly I almost retched; it stank of decades of neglect and decay. I took a tentative step inside, then another. It was warmer in here, damp, but sheltered from that biting wind. I still shivered, though not from the cold this time. There was little left of the kitchen, a chipped sink, a few bare walls, a lopsided set of shelves, peeling, dated wallpaper. I carried on into the narrow corridor beyond. It was darker here, and cramped too, a rickety staircase took up most of the room, making me feel slightly claustrophobic. That didn't help my nerves either.

"What on earth are you doing here?" came a voice from behind, making me jump.

"Samantha!" I gasped, spinning round to face her, "You startled me."

She grinned impishly, "That was the point, silly, I was wondering where you'd got to."

"Well please," I panted, my heart still pounding, "don't do that again!"

"Sure thing," she sniffed, "Urgh, how long do you reckon this dump has been empty for?"

"Dunno, a decade maybe?" I said casually, trying to seem more confident than I felt.

She sniffed again, "Well it reeks!"

"Tell me about it," I muttered grimly, "Try breathing through your mouth; it's not so bad that way."

"Why are you even in here anyway; you're not still trying to find a loo are you?" she demanded, hands firmly on hips, lips tightly pressed together in disapproval, just like my mum does. That made me smile.

"Erm…" I said vacantly, acutely aware that she was still staring at me. "No," I admitted, then added hastily, "I mean, I was, but then I heard a noise."

"A noise?" she repeated faintly.

The house was filled with that eerie moan again.

"That noise."

"Oh."

I looked around anxiously; it seemed to be coming from somewhere upstairs. I swallowed nervously, hoping I looked slightly braver than I felt, "I'm going to take a quick look."

Samantha had gone deathly pale, and I'd never seen her scared of anything before, let alone a mere noise. Nevertheless, she nodded slightly and followed me carefully up the stairs, clinging to the dusty banister for support. The stairs creaked and groaned horribly, after so many years of neglect, but we made it safely to the top. Nothing jumped out at us, none of the stairs gave way, yet still I felt on edge, something was definitely wrong. The first room we looked in was dark and empty, the second too, a tiny thing with a rather odd smell. So far nothing was out of the ordinary, so why did I feel so uneasy?

Samantha opened the third and final door and looked inside. Then she screamed.


End file.
